


Harry Potter and the Thing That Is Under Control

by Nyyrikki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Can be read as extra fluffy Harry & George friendship, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 18:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15225255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyyrikki/pseuds/Nyyrikki
Summary: In which Harry and George both have trouble dealing with life but are able to find comfort in each other.





	Harry Potter and the Thing That Is Under Control

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: description of eating disorder and related behaviour.
> 
> There is literally no point to this story, it's just something I wrote on a sleepless night trying work through a long-term writer's block. So far I've only lurked at this fandom but I thought I'd post this since it's the first thing I've finished in... well.  
> Hope you enjoy.

**Harry Potter and the Thing That Is Under Control**

 

"You do know that could kill you, right?"

Harry blows out a cloud of smoke as George sits down beside him. He looks at the other man and sees written on his body many of the same battles Harry is fighting. There are deep purple shadows under his eyes and he has clearly lost weight. Although George was always built stockier and is only just starting to look a bit too thin for his frame, whereas Harry was always a little too small to begin with. He shifts his gaze from the freckled cheeks to his own pale wrist, where the bones jut through his ashy complexion.

"I know," he finally says and spits out a ball of phlegm, coloured amber by the tar of his cigarette. "It's disgusting."

George peers him through his pale lashes, blue eyes reflecting the warm yellow light of the setting sun. It's soft and it's too understanding without being pitying and Harry can't take it, so he turns back to watching the pond. Small insects are buzzing at the surface of the water and occasionally a fish comes up to catch one. Dragonflies are flitting about the plants growing along the shore. Tiny little ducklings are following their mother across the water a bit farther off and - besides the cigarette smoke - it smells fresh, like flowers and new life. It's peaceful and beautiful and moisture from the grass is seeping into the bottom of Harry's trousers.

"I wasn't talking about the smoking," George says eventually. "Although that _is_ disgusting."

The red-head reaches over and plucks the stub from Harry's fingers, promptly flicking the whole thing in the air and vanishing it with a precise wand-movement before it can land in the water.

"I know," Harry repeats with a wan smile, "it's disgusting."

"No," George replies without missing a beat. "But it's not healthy."

He reaches out his hand, palm up, and wiggles his fingers expectantly. Harry sighs and hands over his pack of smokes. There's only one left anyway. George checks the insides and seems to think for a moment. He then looks at Harry and points his wand.

"Accio Harry's cigarettes."

A full pack flies out of the pocket of his hoodie to the triumphant Weasley, who proceeds to magically rid the world of every last one of Harry's cigarettes. He chuckles at the grin he is treated to.

"I really should quit, huh?" He doesn't receive a verbal response, but it isn't really needed. He gazes down at his bony hands, counting the hours since his last meal and trying not to think of it in terms of whether it's 'safe' to eat yet.

"I'm working on it," he says quietly, not talking about the smoking but he thinks George understands.

"Do you need help?" the other man asks lightly but with an underlying gravity Harry finds he appreciates. The automatic 'no' is right on the tip of his tongue, but he takes the time to really think about it.

"I don't think so," he eventually says, and actually believes it. He doesn't think he's in denial. He can beat this, he knows it's a problem and he knows when he shouldn't listen to his own thoughts. He thinks he has it under control. Of course, everyone always thinks they do; he's aware of this.

George doesn't look entirely convinced. His gaze searches Harry's face for a long time, but whatever he sees must be enough, because eventually he nods.

"Come on," he says and gets up, dusting the stray bits of grass off his trousers. "Mum put the leftovers in the fridge. The others went to bed already, no one needs to see you eat."

Harry stares as George offers him a hand, waiting to help him up. He wants to say he's not hungry, but he kind of really is. Social eating makes him anxious and as delicious as Mrs Weasley's cooking is, the dinner had passed on his part mostly in pushing things around on his plate. He wants to say no, he'll eat a big breakfast, but they would both know it to be a lie. He's panicking just a little bit but he takes the hand and the smile he is rewarded with just might be worth it.

 

~*~

 

Harry feels disgusting. He was never one to gravitate towards purging, but right now it seems like the best idea he's ever had in his entire life. He buries himself deeper into his bed, shivering under the covers, taking deep breaths while trying to think about anything but the cold bathroom tiles and how good it would feel to kneel over the toilet and cast out the heavy weight in his stomach.

The mattress dips as someone crawls into bed behind him, and then George's low voice is painting him a picture of that one night at the Burrow when Arthur had brought home a rubber ducky for further examination, and when neither of them could sleep and they decided to conjure a hundred identical rubber duckies to be left on every available surface in the Weasley kitchen. The puzzled faces of the family had been absolutely magnificent while they were trying to figure out if the yellow plastic toys had actually multiplied by themselves overnight.

George has wrapped his arms around Harry's smaller body and is unapologetically spooning him. Eventually he finds himself relaxed and embarrassed over freaking out so badly when he'd gone through a dozen days exactly like this one without going crazy. And still George is spooning him, burying his nose in Harry's curly hair, and he finds that he doesn't want to move one bit.

 

~*~

 

They get a flat together. To some it might seem like they are each other's crutches, but it doesn't feel like it to them. They have their fun moments, quiet and serious moments, soft moments filled with things too big to say. Harry is there to snap George out of it when he stares at the family pictures for too long, but he's also there to let him have the days he still sometimes needs to grieve. George is there to keep Harry on track on the daily without making him feel like he's being clocked on his meals, but he's also there to see through Harry's bullshit when he really starts slipping.

And when Harry starts to really get into the denial, George is still there.

"You're beautiful," he says and spoons Harry like he prefers, pale body wrapped in his freckled arms and nose tucked into wild black curls. "You're so beautiful and strong and amazing. I don't know if you see it, but you are. You've made it so far and I know this is hard for you but I believe in you. And I know this might never go away but I'll still be here, because even when you're lost in your head like this you're still the most beautiful person I know and I'll wait as long as it takes for you to find your way out again. And I know when I get lost you'll do the same for me."

And Harry feels like it's unfair because it's _so hard_ but he thinks that in the morning he'll try to do just a little bit better. Because just like the overbreeding pygmy puffs and George's depression and the purple thing in the bathroom that really, really doesn't want to stay in its' flowerpot, this is just another thing and it's fine, it's under control.


End file.
